


a good cover

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, synox is a sub, the bluebird crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 17:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19909843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “The mission will require two agents to go undercover as a couple,” Blue says.“Does anyone else think it's kinda weird how many missions we get where we have to pretend to be dating?” Zero asks.“No,” Synox says bluntly.“It’s a good cover,” says Aava, who believes in not looking a gift horse in the mouth.“Well, alright then.” Zero shrugs.





	a good cover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iztopher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iztopher/gifts).



“The mission will require two agents to go undercover as a couple,” Blue says. 

“Does anyone else think it's kinda weird how many missions we get where we have to pretend to be dating?” Zero asks. 

“No,” Synox says bluntly. 

“It’s a good cover,” says Aava, who believes in not looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Well, alright then.” Zero shrugs. 

“Who will be going on the mission?” Blue asks. 

“A force user will probably be useful,” Aava says, who already knows that this mission will include going to a five star spa resort. 

“I guess I can--” Zero says, until Aava subtly stomps on his foot. He may be wearing a metal tipped boot, but  _ she’s _ wearing heels spiky enough to be counted as knives. He bites his tongue and looks at her in a way that somehow manages to convey wounded betrayal through his helmet’s visor. 

She leans in and whispers, “I am not going to put up with Blue being prickly and jealous at me this week. I’m all Blue’d out.” 

Zero shifts uncomfortably. “Blue doesn’t get jealous over me,” he says like he’s just calmly stating objective facts that doesn’t make him feel sad or heartbroken at all. 

“What are you two whispering about?” Blue demands sharply in a distinctly jealous and prickly tone of voice. Aava raises her eyebrows at Zero pointedly. “Don’t talk to each other in facial expressions in front of me!” 

“Agent Zero does not have facial expressions,” Synox says. 

“I’m assigning Synox to this mission,” Blue says like a petulant child. “And since this mission clearly needs a force user then wow oops looks like Zero doesn’t have to come with. Too bad!” 

Aava smirks as Zero tries not to radiate pleasure at being hogged like a favorite blanket. She does  _ not  _ mind having to go to a couple’s retreat with Synox. 

Synox snaps off a salute, and Aava hums and watches his ass as he leaves to prepare for the mission. 

It’s an expensive resort, which means that security is pretty tight as well, to ensure that the customers relaxing holiday isn’t interrupted by any crass robberies or some such. Tight on the way in, at least. Armed guards doing patrols by the pool would hardly fit in with the atmosphere. 

“It’s company policy,” the guard says, apologetic and yet firm in a rather practiced way. The poor man has undoubtedly had to deal with a rather large amount of entitled rich people who would rather throw a fit than have their luggage rifled through. 

“Of course, we understand,” she says smoothly, tucked in underneath Synox’s arm, snug against his side. Mm, muscles. He’s a bit stiff, like he’d rather be standing at parade rest, and she lounges against him more firmly to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally slip into it. He’s supposed to be a corrupt billionaire businessman, not a military icon. The beard he’s grown to try and disguise his oh so marketable face somewhat goes well with the dramatic eyeshadow she helped him apply to help the endeavor. 

“Orders are orders,” Synox says along with an approving nod. 

The guard waves some sort of broad metallic wand thing that clicks and hums over them, because you don’t give rich people pat downs, and he frowns down at the read out when it makes a certain noise. His eyes widen as he reads it. She feels Synox go even tenser than his default where he’s pressed warm up against her side, and she smooths her hand down his arm in a way that looks ‘there there dear please do not shout at the nice man just doing his job for inconveniencing us’ but actually means ‘hold your fire for now Commander’. 

Synox takes orders very well. He stands there like a statue while the guard looks at her warily and says, “Ma’am, are you in possession of a lightsaber?” 

It’s rare to scan for something like  _ that, _ which means that Blue’s intel was likely right on the money. The owner knows that he’s in trouble and is making preparations. 

She laughs delicately. “Oh, that’s what’s got you in such a fuss? I would have called ahead to warn you if I thought this little old thing would cause such a kerfuffle.” She daintily holds out her hand to him, showing off the kyber crystal inset into the golden ring on her left ring finger. “My dear Sy got me  _ the _ most expensive ring in the galaxy to propose to me. He knew that nothing else would do! Isn’t it pretty?” 

The guard relaxes and grants that yes, it does look very pretty, ma’am. The rest of her lightsaber is disassembled and hidden amongst jewel studded dresses, shoes, and her jewelry box. She’s brought so much luggage that five different droids are carrying it in. Her explanation had been that it would make it harder to rifle through her things to find the important stuff, and that it would also help with their deception. 

The main reason why she did it though is because she very much likes clothes. So sue her. 

Synox had with great reluctance left his blaster behind, so they’re waved through in short order after that. 

“That was some clever thinking,” he murmurs to her. 

She hums smugly. “Rich people can get away with anything. We’re eccentric now, Sy, not crazy.” 

His great chiseled face frowns. “I am neither of those things. I am a serious professional.” 

Yes, he is that. To such a great degree, in fact, that it loops back around to being just plain crazy. He wouldn’t understand that if she tried to explain it to him, though. Synox isn’t exactly the kind of person who understands  _ nuance _ or  _ shades of gray. _ The world is very binary and simple for him. Ordered. It’s cute, in a very dumb puppy sort of way. Dumb serious puppy who thinks that he’s got it all figured out and never doubts no matter how wrong he is, no matter how he’s treated. 

(It’s a bit sad, too, but she’s here to have a good time, so she doesn’t think about it. Trying to convince or change Synox when it comes to anything, even when it’s for his own good, is a fool’s errand.) 

“I know, dear,” she says with condescending sweetness, patting him on the chest, signalling to him that it’s time to get back into character. Very consciously and deliberately, he tries to walk instead of march. He’s not so great at it, not so practiced. She titters, half in character and half genuinely (it would’ve been a chuckle if it was all Aava), she makes sure that he keeps to her own slow leisurely pace by her grip on his arm. 

Synox is not meant for undercover work, but that’s fine, because he’s got her to keep him in check. (It’s not like Zero and Blue are much better, after all, what with the helmet and disfigured cyborg alien thing and actually highly eccentric and outright crazy rich person thing that they’ve both respectively got going on.) 

“I feel like we’re going to have a lovely time here,” she says, with sugary sweet foreboding menace. She might as well have said  _ we will salt the scorched earth of this place before we leave.  _

Here are the facts. Certain guests who come to the balmy tropical Pluto Dome Reserve die shortly afterwards. Illness that could not be conclusively proved to be poisonings. All important members of the Empire. Blue had quietly noted that the owner of the PDS had a sister who had run away to join the Rebel Alliance some years ago and then died shortly thereafter, gunned down by Troopers. The owner had denied any Rebel sympathies though, affirming that the sister was the black sheep of the family. You could say that it was a bit… suspicious, though. Worthy of looking into. 

“Rub lotion onto my back,” she says, already rolled over onto her front on her chair by the pool, holding out the bottle of sunscreen to Synox without looking at him. “I burn easy.” 

“I hardly think that this is an appropriate use of our time,” Synox protests. He accepts the offered bottle as he says it, though, and shortly afterwards she hears him flipping the cap open and squirting some into his palm. She smirks, unseen. Always so obedient. Endearing, in some cases.  _ Appealing,  _ in others. His strong calloused hand feels warm and strong against the bare skin of her back. Her toes curl. 

“We’re blending, Sy,” she sighs pleasantly. His thumbs dig in and she makes a pleased noise from deep in her chest. 

“We could be blending  _ and _ investigating the case,” he insists while he does something particularly ingenius with his hands. 

“How are you so good at this?” she marvels. Nnf. Magic hands. 

“It’s a good skill to have for muscle cramps. My question?” 

Of  _ course _ he learned how to do a good massage so that he could  _ do his job better.  _ Fond exasperation colors her voice as she answers. “Rifling through the owners files and belongings counts as blending in?” 

“Perhaps we could have been… searching for somewhere private?” 

She laughs, surprised and delighted. “We have our own rooms.” 

“As you said, rich people are eccentric. Maybe we just wanted some excitement.” 

“Sy, I’m shocked and scandalized.” She turns her head to smile up at him. “I _ have _ to encourage this sort of behavior.” 

“I’m just doing the mission we were assigned,” he points out. 

Well, she was hoping to drag this mission out a little longer but really, she  _ does _ want to encourage this. Synox stops himself from taking initiative when it comes to anything off of the battlefield. There’s something very Sith inside of her that wants to _ corrupt _ him. In a friendly sort of way. 

She stands up and grabs her mimosa to go. “Alright, let's do it.” 

Spycraft can honestly be so  _ dull  _ sometimes, when you’re not getting massages and sipping on mimosas or getting shot at. She neatly puts back the forms detailing the expenditures of the spa for the last six months with deep disgust. 

“Found anything interesting yet?” she asks, reaching for the next file. Oh, look, insurance forms.  _ Exciting.  _

“No promising leads yet,” he reports promptly, head bent over an unlocked datapad. She looks at him from the corner of her eye. He isn’t wearing a shirt. Just chiseled abs and a six pack and shorts, water still beading on his skin from the pre-pool shower. She wants to lick the droplets off of every single inch of-- 

A sounds from outside. Footsteps. 

She puts the file back in place, Synox is dealing with the datapad, and there’s no windows to dive out of here so she just dives for him and puts her mouth to his throat, and suddenly his warm strong arms are around her, keeping her close, and neither of them turn to look when the door opens, entirely enamored with each other. His hands slide up her sides and she giggles. 

“Ooh,  _ darling,”  _ she purrs. “Do me on the desk.” 

She’d like to do _ him _ on the desk-- 

_ “Excuse me,”  _ the man whose life they’re here to investigate and then most likely ruin says. 

Aava shrieks in surprise and then laughter, dodging behind Synox and plucking her mimosa glass up from the desk to laugh into and sip. 

“This is a restricted area,” he says, deeply unamused. 

“The door was unlocked,” Synox lies. 

Aava coyly peeks out from behind Synox’s muscular bulk, unapologetic glee sparkling in her eyes. “We’re so sorry, we made a mistake.” 

“Get out, please,” he says through grit teeth, forced to be polite to his spoiled rich hot half naked customers. You can’t exactly tell a billionaire to fuck off, especially when they’re funding your elaborate revenge plot on the Empire that murdered your sister. 

Aava links her fingers through Synox’s and tugs him away. He follows dutifully, letting her take the lead. He’s cute like that. 

“Well, that operation was a failure,” Synox says, doing what she thinks is the closest he can get to sulking. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” she says consolingly. She’s not in the habit of nursing people’s feelings, but she can make an exception for Synox, since he tries so hard not to have feelings at all. On the rare occasions that they actually show up, they should be encouraged. If Synox ever outright disagrees with something the Empire decrees she swears to the Force that she’ll give him a blowjob on the spot to show her approval. “Our cover wasn’t blown, and we’ve eliminated some sources for information.” 

“We also stand out now.” Synox warily glares at a passing waiter, who seems to be transporting a bowl of peeled grapes to a sunbathing human and is paying approximately zero attention to them, as far as she can tell. 

“I don’t think that he suspects us of anything.” She leafs through the pamphlet. “Relax.” 

“What are you reading?” Synox asks. 

“I’m trying to figure out what we should do next.” She angles the pamphlet towards him so that he can see as well. “What do you think? Mani-pedi? Sauna? Mud bath?” 

Synox’s face does something deeply amusing to show just how little he is tempted by these options. She just barely doesn’t laugh at him to his face. 

“We are on a mission and do not have time for such frivolous activities.” 

“Blending,” she sing songs. “Well, we’re definitely not doing the massages, since you can give me one of those on your own.” 

“If… we _ have _ to do something…” 

“For our cover,” she says encouragingly. 

“The mani-pedi,” he says, pained. “It’s important to keep your nails trimmed to retain a professional appearance and so that they don’t get in your way and hamper you.” 

“Mani-pedi it is,” she says, already planning to get long red sharp claws. 

Aava listens to the satisfying  _ click click click _ of her new nails as she drums them rhythmically against the coffee table in their hotel room. It’s made of authentic polished wood. This coffee table is worth more than a lot of space ships. (Definitely worth more than the Mynock.) 

Synox fine tunes the speakers connected to the bugs they planted on the reserve owner, determinedly ignoring her languorous sprawl. His nails are neatly trimmed, blank and polished. Aava’s nails are long enough for her to rip a man’s throat out with them. 

“I don’t even use a blaster,” she says. 

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he says with blank faced innocence. Me? Criticize a superior? Disagree with a single thing they ever do?  _ Unthinkable.  _

“I use the _ Force. _ I could kill someone with my hands tied up behind my back.” 

“You _ do _ use a lightsaber sometimes,” he comments mildly, like he’s not disagreeing with her but just pointing out an objective fact. 

Aava does not need anyone’s approval, but she  _ is _ bored and she  _ is _ always right, and so ends up assembling her lightsaber to give him a demonstration of how she can definitely cut someone to pieces even with a five inch manicure. 

“Alright, I admit that that is very impressive,” he says after she does a double backflip and beheads her imaginary opponent. 

“I’m putting on my heels and doing it again,” she says, flushed with a good workout and being  _ appreciated  _ by a handsome man. 

_ “That _ seems inadvisable.” 

“You think I can’t do it?” 

Synox is silent for one thoughtful moment. “... No, you definitely can.” 

She tosses her hair, preens. “Glad that you’ve finally seen reason, dear.” 

“Those nails are still unprofessional, though,” he says boldly. 

“They’re pretty,” she says, admiring them and checking if she’s scuffed them any. 

“But not useful.” 

“I disagree.” 

Synox raises one eyebrow. “How so?” 

She turns off her lightsaber, tosses it onto a nearby chaise lounge far too casually, and stalks towards him with intent. Synox stays seated where he is, not moving an inch to escape as she nudges his legs further apart with a tap of her foot to his heel. He only spreads his legs enough for her to stand in the space between his muscled thighs, lean down so (her chest is close to his face) so she can run her hands up under his shirt and up his back. And then back down  _ hard,  _ nails raking. Synox inhales sharply, still doesn’t otherwise move. 

“See?” she says, voice low and deeper than it was a moment ago.  _ “Useful.” _

“I think,” he chokes, “that I see your point.” 

“Mm, good boy,” she hums, breathing in his scent, soaking in his warmth. She’s been looking  _ forward _ to this. Synox is far, far too professional and dutiful to  _ fool around _ during a _ mission-- _ unless you hit him with an approach that he just can’t resist. “Take your clothes off.” 

He seems to vibrate with urge to spring up and do just that where he sits. “The bugs--” 

“We’ll leave the equipment running,” she reassures him. “We’ll hear it if anything interesting happens.” By the sound of it, the target is currently quietly tapping away at a keyboard. It better stay like that for the next hour, or else he is going to suffer a _ painful _ death. “Now take. Your clothes.  _ Off.”  _

Synox is a very obedient man. That can be a very fun thing, sometimes. His clothes come off and are neatly folded and set aside in under a minute, and then he’s standing naked before her, dutifully awaiting further orders. This isn’t the first time that they’ve done this, after all. 

She places her palm against his flat hard stomach and hums thoughtfully, her hand trailing slowly over the planes of his muscles with indulgent appreciation. 

“Pretty,” is her final judgement. 

Synox shivers. “I’m not--” 

“Pretty can be useful too,” she reminds him firmly, and then kisses him. She takes her time there, enjoying herself, sinking into the warmth of it, deepening it. Synox is so  _ warm.  _

He places his broad hands on her waist, and she takes a moment to wonder if this is going to be one of those times where she’ll encourage initiative, or one of the ones where he has to be good for her. In the end, it’s her choice, and that makes whatever she chooses all the more delicious. 

She places a light hand on his chest and  _ pushes. _ The Force sends him sprawling onto the bed, and she laughs at the look on his face. She crawls onto the bed and on top of him, straddling his hips and tugging her skirt up to her hips. No underwear underneath, of course. It’s  _ vacation.  _

“Move when I tell you to, darling,” she purrs. 

His pupils are blown, and he’s fallen into the breathing pattern that he uses during combat or hard training. Forcing himself not to take quick shallow breaths with sheer force of will. 

“Yes, sir,” he says, and then it's her turn to shiver. 

His cock is very pretty, too. Erect and darkening with blood, it looks like a heavy mouthful, a satisfying filling. Like it would fit _ just _ right. She strokes it fondly, thinking about it, giving herself time to get sufficiently wet. Synox is as tense and chiseled as a statue beneath her, fighting to not twitch or lean into her light lingering touch. Following orders. 

“Good boy,” she coos and levers herself up on her knees, leading the cock inside of her with her hand as she sits back down. The slow slide of it up into her steals her breath and all of her thoughts with it, scraping the inside of her skull clean, until she’s sitting flush against his hips, his cock fully sheathed inside of her. She gives herself one long moment to start breathing again, to clench and unclench and adjust. She puts her hands on his chest, leaning forward, getting used to it moving inside of her. He’s shaking underneath her, but not moving, not looking away from her, his fists clenched in the bedsheets. 

_ “Good,” _ she says. And then, “Move.” 

He thrusts up into her and she bounces a little with the movement and _ nnf  _ that’s good. Synox groans and bites his fist. She deliberately thrusts herself up and down on his cock  _ harder, _ before he’s collected himself, and his back arches as he makes a breathless sound.  _ Pretty. _ She feels like she’s burning up on the inside. She does it again. Again. Again. A pattern emerges. She braces herself with one hand against his pelvis and thumbs her clit with the other and her nerves are sparking like fireworks, tingling and vibrating like a struck bell. It’s hard to get enough air into her lungs. She likes the flex of his muscles as he moves, the pleasured anguished face he makes as she overwhelms him, the creak of the bed in tune with their movements. 

“Sir,” he says, “Sir, can I, can I--” 

“Yes,” she hisses, and grinds the heel of her palm hard against her clit, grinding down on his cock like if she just squeezes hard enough with her pussy pleasure will come out. “Do it.” 

He grabs her hips and slams her down and holds her there while he comes, hot and intense, fingers digging in, a tortured sound being dragged out of his throat, followed by a look of absolute bliss that looks gorgeous on him. She leans in and down and touches it because it’s so beautiful and  _ she _ made it and its hers and when he opens his eyes they’re so dark and soft and vulnerable and they’re looking at nothing but her. 

Every one of her muscles goes tight and quivering and screams of  _ yes good _ escape her and she throws her head back before she curls up around him, nails raking down his skin as she shakes apart on top of him. She feels warm and boneless, and as she lists to the side Synox’s arms come up to support her, to lower her gently to the bed. It’s very soft, and he’s very close. 

“Was that satisfactory?” he asks, voice hoarse with swallowed back moans. 

She hums, content and smiling, eyes closed. 

On the listening equipment, the target is haggling over poison prices on a secure connection. Tomorrow, they’ll kill the target and leave the resort burning behind them, right after Aava’s had a haircut and gotten a drink to go. What a lovely vacation. 


End file.
